Politeness, not #deipnophobia drives them to eat alone, tucked away in the warren’s milky shadows to veil their butchery. Cracks of bone and moans of prey not quite dead are muffled by the loamy walls. Above them, the Huntmaster waits for the waxing crescent moon to rise.
A fear of banquets or dinner parties or anxiety over eating in public. (uncountable) (rare)